


Survival is a four letter word

by LeeJean



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Character Growth, Character Study, Falling In Love, Homophobic Language, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV Mickey Milkovich, Survival, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeJean/pseuds/LeeJean
Summary: Runs from Mickey’s childhood to season 9 episode 6.“The thing about loving someone, making them your fucking family, was that you couldn’t turn that shit off at will.  Mickey might have gotten one secret off his chest, but now something else burrowed it’s way under Mickey’s skin, making him itchy and tense and wistful.  That something was Ian fucking Gallagher.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	Survival is a four letter word

**Author's Note:**

> References to underaged sex, child abuse (both Shameless typical) and Mickey’s rape from season 3 (non-graphic).
> 
> Not beta read.

Terry once called Mickey a cockroach. A ‘fuckin’ filthy, disgusting cockroach’, actually. It stuck with Mickey, from the time he was six years old. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called: useless piece of shit, good for nothing trash, waste of skin, crybaby faggot. These were all insults Terry hurled at his young son on a frequent basis, believing it would make him tough, turn him into a man.

But the cockroach thing hit hard, wormed it’s way under Mickey’s skin, crawled into his chest and heart, settled there like a dead weight.Maybe it was because Mickey fucking hated those scuttling bugs.He’d find them behind the toilet, or in the cereal box, or crawling around the sink when he needed to wash a cup for some juice after a bad dream.They were everywhere in the Milkovich house, and sometimes Mickey woke up in the middle of the night, a cold sweat prickling his neck, pillow jammed into his mouth to keep from screaming, sure he felt dirty little legs creeping over his face.

As Mickey got older, moved out of childhood and into adolescence, his fear subsided, replaced with a grudging fascination for the tenacious bastards.When Terry slugged him in the eye, split his lip, held him down and beat him with a belt until his back was left in shredded ribbons, Mickey thought,  _I’m a dirty fuckin’ cockroach.And I’ll survive this shit._

It was something Mickey carried with him, like a badge of dishonour.A secret he hauled around, the weight still heavy on his chest, but now somehow less sharp and painful.Being a cockroach meant being a fighter, a survivor.It also meant being a despised bottom dweller, but Mickey could deal with that, as long as his heart kept beating and his legs kept moving.

———

When Mickey was fourteen, a mix of older brothers and cousins attempted to knock over a local liquor store.Shit went bad quickly, with the dude behind the counter pulling a shotgun and missing Jaime by inches, causing a display of cheap vodka to explode instead.More bottles smashed as the boys dropped what was in their hands, hightailing it out of the shop.Mickey, always the smallest and shortest, pumped his legs as hard as he could, but didn’t make it to the door before the shotgun was pressed to his back. 

Mickey was promised probation in exchange for the names of the others involved in the robbery.But Milkoviches ain’t snitches.

That was the start of Mickey’s illustrious career in Juvie.

———

“You’re small, but you’re feisty,” Terry said, eyeing his youngest son with distaste.“And you’re a Milkovich, don’t forget.That name alone should carry some weight.”

Mickey nodded, eyes on his hands.A pre-prison pep talk from his career criminal Father should have lifted his spirits. It just left Mickey feeling hollow.

“You listening, boy?”Mickey nodded again, doing his best to look interested.“Good.I’ve got friends on the inside - guards and the like. I expect to hear you’ve been living up to the Milkovich name.”

———

What Mickey liked most about being a cockroach was the absence of feelings.Cockroaches didn’t feel terror.They didn’t feel regret, or hopelessness, or any of the other emotions a young teenage boy might experience when being taken away from his family and locked up.

They fucking got on with things, and survived.

———

Juvie brought a whole other secret to the forefront of Mickey’s existence.One that was much darker, much more filthy than being a cockroach.

Mickey liked cock.

And he wasn’t fucking gay.That wasn’t the problem.He’d fucked around with a few girls before getting tossed in Juvie.Gotten a load of handjobs, a hummer or two.He’d even banged Angie once, from behind on her bed, and it had felt pretty good.

But sometimes, even before being surrounded by dudes and dicks 24/7, Mickey thought about what another guy’s cock might feel like in his hand, in his mouth, up his ass.

That was the worst fucking part.Everyone knew it was ok to fuck a guy in prison, as long as you were the one giving, and there were no fucking feelings involved.None of this ‘prison boyfriends’ shit.A warm, wet hole was a warm, wet hole, and a guy had to get his rocks off somehow. Even Terry understood that.

So when Mickey was in the showers, fucking some nameless, faceless dude almost twice his size, he didn’t think about reaching around and helping the guy out. He didn’t think about how the warm, slick come would feel covering his hand.He certainly didn’t pull out and come himself, all over a muscled back, thinking about having a jizz covered cock shoved into his own asshole.

This new secret left Mickey feeling a million times more disgusting than being a cockroach ever had.He smashed the dude’s head into the tiles, gave him a kick in the ribs for good measure, and called him a faggot on his way out of the showers.

That stunt cost Mickey two extra months locked up, but it was worth it.

———

Mickey left Juvie with a set of knuckle tattoos, a reputation for being a fag bashing bastard, and two grimy little secrets he squirrelled away that defined his very soul, but would never see the light of day.

———

Mickey wasn’t fucking gay, but damn if he didn’t spend way to much time dwelling on Ian Gallagher’s freckled dick.

Ian was a mystery Mickey couldn’t figure out.The kid was cocky and brash, while still being sorta shy and naive.Experienced with fucking, yet inexperienced with what came after, which was fine with Mickey.That lovey-dovey relationship shit most teenagers wanted wasn’t something Mickey could offer, to anyone, boy or girl. 

For some unknown reason, Ian still wanted him.Mickey Milkovich, total fuck-up.Dirty and poor, one step above homeless.Born of a family of criminals and thugs, drug dealers and gun runners.The lowest of the low.

And despite the danger he’d be in if anyone found out, Mickey wanted Ian too.Wanted him enough to go looking for the kid, at his job and school, seeking out Ian’s stupid ginger head like a druggie itching for his next fix.

For a minute, Mickey forgot his place.Forgot he was a fucking cockroach.Thought he could actually have something more.

———

One thing Mickey’d never really had in his life was a person that liked him, and wanted to spend time with him, just because.Bringing friends home to the Milkovich house wasn’t an option for Mickey, although Mandy got away with it with Ian.It just wasn’t worth the hassle, seeing some kid look around at their junky place, revulsion, or worse, pity, in their eyes.

Hanging with Gallagher was fun, even beyond banging.After spending all day at the Kash and Grab in each other’s faces, Mickey still craved more time together.It was foolhardy as fuck, but Ian made Mickey feel carefree.He pushed Mickey out of his comfort zone, and Mickey found himself kissing Ian in a van, asking him to stay at his house, cooking fucking food for him.

Ian was a Good Thing in Mickey’s life.Mickey should have known he didn’t deserve Good Things.Cockroaches didn’t get to have Good Things, they got the leftovers, the trash, the dregs that no one else wanted.

Cockroaches had to watch the boy they liked get beaten by a Nazi thug.They watched that boy through a bloody face as they got the living shit kicked out of them, pistol whipped to the verge of unconsciousness.They tried to focus on that boy when they were forced to fuck a whore at gunpoint, because cockroaches ain’t faggots.And because cockroaches always find a way to survive, they flipped that whore on her back and fucked her hard, hoping it was enough so that the red haired boy’d be allowed to survive another day, too.

———

Mickey’d always known where his life was headed.Married to a woman he didn’t love, her pregnant with a baby he didn’t want.Following in Terry Milkovich’s pathetic footsteps.The real fucking kicker though?His old man was proud. Fucking proud as shit that Mickey’d knocked up some dead-eyed Russian whore that he and all his cronies had banged.How fucking twisted was that?

How fucking twisted was it for Mickey to savour that praise?

He got exactly what he deserved, a life laid out for him, the path set practically since childhood.It was good enough  for his Pops. What more could he want? 

———

Somehow Mickey’d become someone people expected stuff from.Someone they thought would care about something besides himself, his own survival and playing his part to retain the status quo.First Mandy, then that fucking college pussy Gallagher, Lip.It was half-hearted for sure; their expectations were extremely low.And that made sense, seeing as how Mickey’d had no real hopes in his own Dad since he was a toddler, and Mickey was well on his way to becoming just like the old man.

Cockroaches were social creatures, unlike Mickey.They lived in groups, made joint decisions, worked together.Mickey didn’t have that, never had as a boy growing up, never would with his wife and impending child.

The closest he got was with Ian, and it wasn’t very close at all.Stolen moments and banal conversations that never led anywhere solid.Beating the kid to a pulp when he pushed Mickey for more.Couldn’t Ian see what he was?Couldn’t he tell that Mickey wasn’t worth the trouble, that he was just vermin, thinking only of making it to the next day intact?

Mickey couldn’t put into words how he felt about Ian, but he was worried enough to go against his base nature and put his life on the line.He pissed off his emotionless wife, who’d love nothing more than to stab Mickey to death in his sleep.Gave away the filthiest of his well-guarded secrets, announced publicly for a whole bar of assholes to hear.Risked the wrath of his dad, who would never be proud of his son again, now that he knew Mickey was a cocksucking queer.Sacrificed everything for a pale, freckled boy who was rapidly spiralling downwards in front of Mickey’s eyes, pulling away no matter how hard Mickey tried to hold them together. 

When Mickey used a dirty needle to tattoo the name of the only person he’d ever loved on his chest, he knew it was a lost cause.He got confirmation when Ian showed up, anxious and distant and obviously wanting to be anywhere but visiting Mickey Milkovich, South Side trash.But Mickey fought with the veracity of someone who doesn’t know how to quit, and for his efforts he got a heartbreaking lie and a flash of red hair walking away from him.Ian had finally seen Mickey for what he was.Mickey was surprised it had taken so long.

There was only one option, and that was for Mickey to keep going, put one foot in front of the other, keep his head up, and survive. 

———

The thing about loving someone, making them your fucking family, was that you couldn’t turn that shit off at will.Mickey might have gotten one secret off his chest, but now something else burrowed it’s way under Mickey’s skin, making him itchy and tense and wistful.That something was Ian fucking Gallagher.

Thinking of Ian was a double edged knife.Mickey could picture them together, happy, smiling and laughing.Maybe on a beach somewhere, sun kissing their faces, warm water lapping at their toes.Mickey couldn’t swim, but he would wade in, a beer in his hand, and kick a splash of water at Ian.Ian would grin and splash Mickey back, maybe tackle him in the surf, roll around in the sand, until the two were drenched and exhaustedly blissed out.

But when Mickey tried to sleep at night, reality would hit him.Ian was done with him.Wasn’t coming to visit, wasn’t waiting for him.

Done was done.

———

Cockroaches could survive on the tiniest amount of sustenance, and that was how Mickey survived, those years in prison.Staying alive in hostile, barley livable conditions had always been Mickey’s specialty.

———

Mickey didn’t dwell on the past.

Well, he tried his best not to, anyways.Why bother?Wouldn’t fucking change anything, would it?Probably the only worthwhile advice he’d gotten from his Dad was ‘get the fuck on with it and don’t be a pussy.’

Only Ian brought out his contemplative side.

Mickey was fucked for life.On the run from the feds, a step away from getting caught and thrown back in the slammer for good, and still he went right to Ian, drawn like a fucking magnet to his chiseled jaw and ginger head. 

Ian was still Mickey’s Good Thing, would always be Mickey’s Good Thing, no matter what happened between them.Laying in the back of a dirty van, wrapped up in Ian’s strong arms, was the best Mickey had felt in years.

And yet the past came back to haunt him, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

The fact that Ian was an EMT?That made Mickey’s chest swell with pride.He’d always known Ian would do something heroic. Some type of save the world shit.

Like back when Ian wanted to get into Westpoint, join the army, before it all went to shit.All that work, down the drain, and Mickey had known it damaged Ian, broke him inside.Sent him running towards drugs and random hookups and sweaty older men pawing at his body, just to make him feel SOMETHING again.That was Mickey’s one worry - his single regret, that he was the catalyst for Ian’s descent into crazy town.‘Relationship problems’, aka Mickey was a huge fuckup, as usual.

When they reached the border, and Ian backed out, Mickey wasn’t surprised.Heartbroken, yeah.Gutted and hollow in a way he’d never felt before, never let himself feel.But in the long run, he wasn’t fucking surprised that he wasn’t enough for Ian.

———

Mexico wasn’t all that different from the Milkovich house.

It was a lot of laying low, doing what he was told.Running drugs and guns and whatever else the cartel asked him to do.Making himself useful.

It was also people looking at him with mistrust, and sometimes outright disdain.Never knowing when he might be yelled at, or smashed in the face.Proving himself. 

But Mickey wasn’t stupid, despite what his teachers might have said back in the day.He was street smart and quick, and knew how to make himself indispensable.And despite being kind of a people-hating asshole, he had a tendency of drawing others in, making them like him, want to please him, without even trying.

Life wasn’t relaxing on the beach with a beer in his hand, like Mickey had pictured all those months ago when Ian had thrown his backpack through the SUV window and said “let’s ride.”It never would have been, even if Ian had come.Life was always meant to be this way for Mickey - doing dangerous fucking shit that no one else dared, because it was all he was good for.

Leaving Mexico was an easy choice.The easiest Mickey’d ever made. 

———

Mickey wasn’t sure when the focus of his life switched from his own survival to that of Ian Gallagher. Was it a slow, drawn out process, over the years they had known each other, starting with a tire iron to the shoulder blade?Or was it a sudden, punch in the face type moment - perhaps when Mickey dragged an unconscious Ian out of a snowbank and into his marriage bed? Or maybe a combination of the two, from stolen fucks and hard won kisses to declarations of love and heartbreak, all leaving Mickey willing to put his life on hold, full stop, for that freckled freak.

He didn’t expect anything from Ian.And at the same time, he expected everything from Ian.Because that’s what Mickey gave - everything he had.Stuck his cockroach neck out from the dark confines of safety he had built around himself for years. 

Ian turned towards him in the cell, and he looked different.Not just the black hair and the jumpsuit, but the aura of total defeat, like an abused dog.Even when Ian was sick, or fucked up from his meds, Mickey’d never seen him look like that. 

Ian’s expression changed, a flash of emotions playing out over his face.Mickey had rehearsed what he would say, thought about how he would act.This was a huge fucking gesture, yeah, but he’d never force himself on Ian.If Ian had moved on, Mickey would still protect him.Fuck knew the kid would get shanked in prison otherwise.

Mickey played it cool, just like in the old days, when giving Ian even the scraps of his affection was almost too much to bear.He grazed by Ian, laid down on his bunk, and waited for the fallout.

The stakes were so much higher now.Rolling on a cartel?Kids on the South Side were raised not to be snitches, so Ian knew the code.It was a declaration of love, Milkovich style.Mickey might as well have dropped his bleeding heart at Ian’s feet.And Ian would either pick it up, or stomp on it.Mickey hoped he could survive either option.

Ian was on him in a heartbeat, a little smirk on his face that was so recognizable it made Mickey’s chest ache.Mickey drank Ian in; his stunning green eyes, pale as fuck skin, crooked jawline.All the features he had memorized, the beauty and the imperfections.Mickey wished he could stare at Ian all day, let Ian stroke his face and gaze back into Mickey’s eyes.But Ian’s expression was so unguarded, so awed and fucking loving, that Mickey couldn’t stay still.He reached out, gently cupped the back of Ian’s head, letting his fingers touch the delicate skin right below his ridiculous black hair. 

The kiss was tender and perfect.Ian might have initiated it, but Mickey pushed forward, leaned in, just a fraction, made sure it happened.It was the slowest, softest kiss Mickey’d ever had.The sweetness of it tingled Mickey’s skin, settled in his bones, made him feel light and giddy.For him, it was a way of saying all the shit he’d left unsaid to Ian over the years.He hoped it was the same for Ian, too.

Ian pulled back a little, so he could look down at Mickey again.“This is real,” he whispered.“You’re really here.”

“Of course I’m fucking here,” Mickey said with a grin.Like it was easy to snitch on adangerous drug cartel, or demand where you got locked up, or who your fucking cell mate would be.Like it didn’t take every ounce of fucking fight and resourcefulness that Mickey had to make this reunion happen.“Where else would I be?We’re fucking family.”

Ian’s eyes opened wide.He dropped his head into the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and murmured, “you can only count on family.”

“Damn straight, Gallagher.”

“But...Mick.You’re back in prison.”Ian’s voice hitched up an octave.“For me?”

“Ey, prison’s not so bad,” Mickey said, pressing his lips to Ian’s temple.Ian choked out a wet laugh.

Ian didn’t get it.Mickey could live anywhere, as long as he had his family - had Ian.And it wouldn’t just be about survival, not even in prison.When Mickey was with Ian, he was always thriving, no matter the environment. 

Mickey thought back to a day long ago, when he was just a young punk, scared shitless of his father and his wife and his huge fucking secret.When Ian sat at the bar, crushing peanuts in his hands, his fingers never still.Mickey had asked, “this really where you want to spend your day off?”

Ian’s simple reply had twisted Mickey’s heart back then.He gave the same explanation to Ian now.

“You’re here.” 

———


End file.
